No Place to Go But Up
by kiseuk
Summary: With no job and no resources, Marco Bodt finds himself at the Springs of Hope homeless shelter. Life there is hardscrabble and filled with more hardship than he believes he could ever handle. Yet with the help of newfound friends, he develops a new perspective on life and discovers that sometimes it takes hitting rock bottom to be able to make it to the top. (Homeless AU)
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Welcome to my little writing shindig. I've been out of the fanfiction and anime game for at least 10 years so I'm a bit rusty. There's just something about SnK/AoT that made me want to write again. (I'm sure there are others out there who understand!)

This fic was (sort of) inspired by a prompt I saw somewhere on tumblr. The main difference between that promp and my story is that it's Marco who is homeless—not Jean. I pounced on it because I have…more than enough experience when it comes to being a resident of homeless shelters.

Most of the events Marco will experience in this fic when it comes to his homelessness have been inspired by my own. There is truly no need to exaggerate the kind of treatment one receives from the general public when their housing situation (or lack thereof) is known. Trust me on this.

With that being said, enjoy!

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**Chapter 1**

If there ever was a moment Marco Bodt wished he could control time, this was it.

He would just push the hours forward a bit to make up for his early arrival, or he maybe would fast-forward days—possibly weeks—into the future to put this whole ordeal behind him. Perhaps he would even go so far as to go back to the time before he was born, giving him a second chance at having a decent life. There was one thing he was sure of; he would _not_ be standing near the entrance ramp of a cramped parking lot, becoming another nameless individual waiting in line to claim a bed at the Springs of Hope homeless shelter.

Marco stepped to the side of the growing line and made a mental tally of the number of people ahead of him. There had to be at least forty, all bundled up in worn-looking outerwear and most chatting gaily amongst themselves. They looked so carefree and unburdened by their situation—as if this were something completely normal. He wondered if he would ever feel that way. Could he ever consider this his new normal?

He had learned from another resident that the shelter didn't open its doors again for hours. He had just missed the tail end of the dinner service when he arrived and wouldn't be able to have a meal until the next morning, making him eternally grateful for being smart enough to have a sandwich before leaving his apartment for the last time. The thought of standing up for nearly three more hours, however, was not appealing in the slightest. He had already spent most of the day on his feet, meticulously removing all traces of his life from his apartment with the help of a mop and numerous rags. He had even volunteered to clean some of the building's common areas, trying anything to chip away at the monstrous mound of guilt crushing him for having to break his lease and leave without paying rent. It just wasn't something he liked to do.

But what was done was done, and as he stepped back in line, the soles of his feet throbbing in his boots with each movement, he knew he could only look towards the future. Time machines be damned.

Marco busied himself with a book from his rucksack to pass the time. It had always been one of his favorites, hand-picked by his mother the week before he began his freshman year of high school. She had even taken the time to inscribe a message to him on the first page. He must have read it over twenty times in the ensuing years, and could recite a great deal of passages verbatim. But this night the words just weren't coming to him.

He stared at the slightly yellowed paper, trying to read at least one passage. One paragraph. One word. All he saw was a blur of black ink stretched across the pages. Each turned page revealed the same thing. It took a few seconds for him to feel the slight burn of moisture gathering around his eyelids. The hardcover was slammed shut and shoved back in his bag, garnering a few glances from those nearby. He promised himself he wouldn't tear up about this—it was a common situation nowadays with the town's rapidly declining job market. But why did it have to happen to _him_? What could he have ever done to deserve this fate?

Marco wiped his eyes with the sides of his fingers and struggled to calm himself, shallow breaths emitting translucent puffs of steam in the chilly night air. It was a bad idea to break down in front of strangers, to show a sign of weakness. Life had taught him that much. And as he looked at the grizzled faces of those ahead of him in line, mostly careworn with wrinkles and sun-damaged skin, he knew they could probably sense his fear. It was like high school all over again, only the jocks and cheerleaders had been replaced by frazzled war veterans and protective mothers who hovered around their children as if they were their shadows.

So he let the familiar mask slip into place, felt his lips curve back into the sunny smile that charmed everyone: his mother, former bosses and landlords, even the kind cab driver who had helped him with his luggage only an hour before. It seemed to have the desired effect on those who were still looking in his direction after his recent spectacle. A couple people returned the smile while the rest simply turned away. A minute sense of calm began to wash over him, slowing his pattering heartbeat and allowing his lungs to take in soothing gulps of cold air. Crisis averted.

The tranquility was shattered as he felt a hand clamp down on his right shoulder, a slender thumb digging into the tense area above the curve of his shoulder blade. The hand belonged to a man who looked to be around Marco's age, if not a few years older. He was holding out a cigarette in his other hand like it was an offering of peace, more of a proverbial olive branch than a slightly crumpled smoke. Marco dismissed the offer with a shake of his head, yet followed behind the man when he shrugged and moved away from the slowly growing line of people. They both sat down on a cracked concrete slab in front of an occupied parking space, their backs pressed against a worn chain-link fence and knees pulled up towards their chests. It was an unconventional place to rest, but his muscles appreciated the break from standing all the same. Cars flew by on the road behind them, producing small gusts of wind that knocked leaves from the overhanging tree branches and sent them cascading over their heads.

The young man didn't make any physical acknowledgement of Marco's presence. He took a hard drag of the cigarette Marco had just refused, sharp amber eyes looking out towards the hunk of rusted metal, glass and rubber in front of them. They sat there for a few minutes, neither of them saying a word. Marco preferred it that way. He wasn't in the mood for talking about himself, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested in learning more about the young man he was sharing a seat with. Had he been there a long time? What circumstances led him to the shelter? What were his plans for life afterwards? He didn't dare ask such personal questions, and settled for idly twirling the stem of a fallen leaf in his fingers while quietly observing the way other man's calloused fingers reached out to break any smoke rings he created when he exhaled.

Sitting with him was almost…comforting. Familiar, even. Perhaps he was overreacting a bit over having a seat next to a complete stranger, but there was something soothing about finally being able to relax—even a little—after days of being completely wound up.

The calm was short-lived as the man reached the end of his cigarette and flicked it to the ground, smashing the filter into the gravel with the soles of his ratty Converse. Within seconds he was up and walking away, the tips of his closely-cropped blond hair briefly illuminated from a nearby light. Marco didn't want the guy to leave thinking his kind gesture was wasted.

"Hey," The word came out strained and barely carried over the raucous racket of car engines and the loud voices of the nearby crowd. He paused and cleared his throat before speaking again. "Thanks. For everything."

He almost believed the other man didn't hear him until the guy turned and looked Marco's way, the corner of one side of his thin lips quirking into a small smirk.

"Just thought you needed something." With that said, the man was gone. He sprinted across the parking lot and disappeared into one of the shelter's many side doors, only leaving the faint odor of burning tobacco in his wake.

Needed _what_? Marco stared in the direction the man had gone off in, large brown eyes focusing on nothing in particular. He could simply take the man's words at face value and presume he meant the cigarette that was offered, but a niggling part of Marco's mind wanted to believe he had meant something else entirely.

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Comments are always appreciated, but not required. Feel free to point out anything you feel that's off or wrong. Like I mentioned before, I'm a bit rusty when it comes to fanfic and am always looking to improve. I won't bite.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all so much for reading. I appreciate every person who gives my story a chance.

A special shout-out goes to Bobmango4. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Thank you so much for the review!

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Marco would never look at zombie films the same way again.

He could finally relate to the undead, bodies stiff and uncoordinated, and minds focused on a single objective. The only difference was that his goal wasn't feasting on fresh brains—it was getting a good night's rest.

Trying to survive on a few hours of sleep could do that to a person.

He craved his old bed like an addict craved their next hit. The desire nipped at his heels as he rose from the threadbare mat that served as a makeshift mattress, took a bite out of him as he waited an hour in line for a turn at having a cold shower in a stall caked with what looked and smelled like a volatile combination of decades-old mildew and urine, and finally consumed him whole when he dropped his breakfast tray only seconds after receiving it, oatmeal splattering in near perfect circles on the grimy linoleum floor. The custodial staff wasn't happy about _that _mishap, even after Marco had practically gotten down on his hands and knees to beg them to let him clean the mess himself.

A savior came in the form of a bespectacled caseworker shuffling towards his table, arriving roughly around the time he was ready to doze off into his replacement bowl of watery oatmeal.

"Mr. Bodt?" Her nasally voice was almost overpowered by the loud babble of those around her. "Come with me, please."

The shelter's basement was not the most hospitable of places, all unfinished drywall, dim lighting, and concrete floors stained from years of use. He trudged alongside the much shorter woman, his mind working overtime to force his feet to not drag on the ground. They wandered deeper into the labyrinth of closed doors and office windows decorated with kitschy stickers of cartoon biblical characters. The smell of lemon-scented cleaner was nearly overwhelming by the time they reached their destination, a small office near the beginning of a long hallway, sparsely furnished with a tiny desk and two broken-down chairs. There was also something else in the air, its odor slightly bitter, yet familiar and inviting. It reminded him of mornings spent sitting in his old kitchen, alternating between reading the newspaper and catching snippets of the morning news.

When he saw the coffee machine tucked at the end of the corridor, the dark liquid pooling in the glass canister like a spring straight out of the Garden of Eden, he knew his morning could properly begin.

It was only a few minutes later that he believed the only purpose for the free coffee was for it to act as a pacifier for the grilling one would receive in the subterranean dungeon.

"Are you a homosexual?" The question was posed more like it was a matter of national security than a simple inquiry about his orientation. Marco was relieved to not have been swallowing any coffee at that moment because it would have ended up sprayed all over her wrinkled face or even worse, aspirated in his lungs.

His fingers tightened around the styrofoam cup, sloshing some of the now lukewarm liquid onto his fingers. Why did it even matter? Shouldn't she be asking about something more relevant?

She must have taken his lapse into silence as an admission of guilt. Her face twisted into something resembling the knotted roots of an old oak tree, cherry lips puckering as if she had just ingested an entire bucket of lemon peels.

"We don't hold such behavior against our guests," She said, tapping the tip of her ballpoint pen against a large pile of paperwork. "—but we like to know these things for placement and service purposes."

Marco tried to not laugh at her attempts to spread soothing balm on the figurative burn she had initially caused. He managed to quell most of it, only letting out an amused hum instead. For placement purposes. Right.

He was sure he would be on the next bus heading to one of those bizarre _Pray-The-Gay-Away _programs chronicled on numerous news programs if he told her half of the things he had done with other men. A quarter, even.

There was also another feeling bubbling deep inside of him, spreading around his gut like a bad case of indigestion. He could nearly taste it as he squirmed in his seat, the ancient chair emitting a loud popping sound every time his thighs ran over a large crack in the middle of the plastic.

He knew the sensation well; it was fear.

All the air seemed to escape from his lungs at once when the woman leaned over and pulled his free hand onto her plywood desk, nearly knocking over a cheap-looking ceramic angel statue placed precariously near the edge.

"I know you're not like that," she cooed as she placed one of her gnarled hands over his, her chipped red fingernails tracing over some of the more prominent freckles near his knuckles. "You look like a sweet boy. It's just…you wouldn't believe how many of those types we get in here."

He let out another hum as he gently pried his hand out her grasp. "I'm sure."

She leaned back in her office chair and grinned, displaying a slight smear of scarlet lipstick on the top row of her yellowing teeth.

"As you can tell, the safety of the children is our number one priority."

Marco's stomach lurched at the allusion she was obviously trying to make. The thought that he could—that he ever would consider— Just because he—

He wanted to knock that stupid statue off her desk. He wanted to throw the rest of his coffee at her, crush the styrofoam cup, and smear the broken pieces over her stupid smiling face. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He wanted to do many things. But as he sat in his cracked chair, head slumped, hands fisted, shoulders trembling slightly from the silent rage coursing through his veins, he found that he could do nothing. The words of protest died before they reached his lips, forming a viscous mass in his throat he found he couldn't clear no matter how hard he tried.

Marco left the basement office complex with a schedule of life skills classes he had to attend, a red paper band signifying he had gone through the intake process, and a nagging sense of guilt.

It wasn't until he had found a seat on the public bus heading downtown that he realized he hadn't drunk any of the damn coffee.

The Trost city library was completely different from what he was used to, all minimalist lines and large panes of glass; the exact opposite of the ancient domed structure that constituted the library in Jinae.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been positively giddy at the thought of having a chance to sample all the books a library of this size could offer, but all he felt was remorse. He shuffled across the polished marble floor and into the closest restroom, holing himself in one of the stalls across from the urinals. Sitting fully clothed on a toilet wasn't his greatest or most hygienic moment, but the closed stall provided just enough privacy for him to properly get his thoughts together without what felt like a million eyes on him.

He rested his head against the right side of the stall and closed his eyes, eyelids fluttering from the sudden rush of coolness against the side of his forehead.

When did he become such a pushover? He was never the overly outspoken type, but he sure as hell wouldn't have let someone insinuate all queer folk were pedophiles without saying something.

The rational part of his mind told him he was doing it for self-preservation. Admitting his orientation could have had some negative effects—effects that would cause him to end up with nowhere else to go. And with no other shelters in the immediate area, the option of being candid seemed less and less appealing.

His mind drifted to the guy he had met the night before. How did he react to the question? Did he become angry over the blatant invasion of his privacy? Annoyed? Or did he simply laugh, amused at the mere idea of him having that kind of relationship with another man?

Another man…like him.

He shook his head as if the thoughts could be knocked out by sheer force. All it did was give him a slight headache.

He managed to eventually clear his mind enough to leave the stall, but not before flushing the toilet. His last minute decision to tap the toilet handle with his foot immediately paid off when he discovered someone else was in the bathroom with him. A young man was standing in front of the sink closest to the stall Marco was just in, intently scrubbing his bare chest with a wet washcloth, a few suds dripping off his fingers and down the length of his toned arm.

"Man, I thought you had died in there," The young man's mid-pitched voice echoed slightly off the shiny tile walls as he rubbed the cloth under his arms, his head never turning to physically acknowledge Marco. "Are you okay?"

Marco slid past him and towards the sink closest to the door, staring at his shoes in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact. He could feel the man's large green eyes following him, trailing his every move.

Marco could only go so long without acknowledging the other man's presence. He didn't want to address the obvious elephant in the room, so he settled for talking about something completely innocuous as he turned on the faucet and rinsed his hands, a nervous, yet genuine smile appearing on his lips.

"Some weather we're having today, isn't it?"

The young man didn't seem to be very receptive to Marco's change in subject. He only grunted in response and went back to scrubbing himself, hands trailing down his abdomen and slightly under the waistband of his stained jeans.

Marco turned away and tried to focus on washing his hands, taking time to pick at some of the dirt that had accumulated under his fingernails. He felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but didn't to seem rude by leaving in a rush. It was obvious the young man was in a situation similar to his own, and it was not wise to be unkind to someone who seemed fairly harmless.

What seemed like half a minute had passed before Marco felt the man's fingers tug at the red band on his left wrist, pulling Marco's hand towards his chest.

"I see you're a member of Club Hope," The young man chuckled as he turned the (thankfully) waterproof paper around on Marco's wrist, slicking it up with the remnants of bar soap on his fingers. "Must be a glutton for punishment."

Marco jerked his wrist away and backed into the hand-drying machine, turning it on by sheer force. The loud whoosh of mechanically-propelled air seemed to startle the wild-haired brunette. He dropped the washcloth he had been holding, causing the bar of soap that had been wrapped in it to ricochet across the tile and smack the tip of one of Marco's boots.

"Dude, chill out. You're among friends," He held out a slightly soapy hand, displaying a far more crumpled red band hanging loosely around his tanned wrist. "I'm Eren."

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I apologize for the lack of Jean in this chapter. It's more of a plot point than my attempt at a slow-build romance. He's a big fixture in later chapters, so I guess it will all even out in the end. Thanks again for reading!


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